Tag Archives: Rule of St Benedict




William, born of noble parents at Vercelli, had scarcely completed his fourteenth year when, with a wonderful spirit of penance and an ardour of piety, he undertook a pilgrimage to Compostella. Then, after attempting in vain another pilgrimage to the sepulchre of Christ the Lord, he remained two years on a lonely hill in constant prayer, vigils and fasts.


When he restored sight to a blind man, fleeing the praises of men, he built a monastery in a rugged and inaccessible spot on Monte Virgiliano, which thereafter was called Monte Vergine. He there admitted companions and molded them by certain rules, taken for the most part from the institutes of St Benedict, and by his words and by the example of his most holy life.


When other monasteries were built later on, the holiness of William became more famous day by day and attracted men from all parts to him. They were also drawn by the fame of his frequent miracles. Finally, after predicting his death, he fell asleep in the Lord in the year of salvation 1142.


O God, who made your saints an example and a help for our weakness; grant us, as we walk the path of salvation, so to venerate the virtues of the blessed Abbot William that we may obtain his intercession and follow his footsteps. Through our Lord…

– From: An Approved English Translation of the Breviarium Romanum, Burns & Oates, London, 1964 [bold titles added]


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“Few people would be grateful for having spent 10 years in prison. But James Bishop was imprisoned for a decade, and hails it as a lifesaver.
‘Getting arrested saved my life,’ he says. ‘Had I not been jailed in 1999, I am convinced that I would have died soon after.’

I met James on a hot London day with sun pouring down. He tells me he was born in 1965 in a Los Angeles convent run by the Sisters of Holy Family Adoption Services, who cared for unmarried mothers. His mother was 15, and she gave him up for adoption. In his new family, James was the second of four. All the children were adopted and he was raised by ‘an extremely devout Catholic dad’. His adoptive mother was a covert alcoholic, getting inebriated while they were at school. When he was growing up, he resolved to abandon Christianity as soon as he turned 18. He chose to do electrical engineering at university and it was on the first day there that he drank his first bottle of whiskey, ‘to drown out the anxiety I felt at being away from home and my family’.

During his 20s and 30s he became more dependent on larger quantities of alcohol – before he was jailed, his staple was four large bottles of Jack Daniels a day. A severe form of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) and related paranoia had a lock on his thinking. ‘I was not mentally well,’ he says. ‘My paranoia was most likely from drinking so much alcohol. I was convinced that the world was going to end and so I started stockpiling cases of military rations and barrels of water. And I had obsessions with counting bricks in the wall or counting the number of steps that I took, or drawing star shapes over and over in my mind.’

One day, while uncontrollably drunk, he committed grievous bodily harm. When he was arrested and put in jail, he began to realise the repercussions of his crimes. ‘I stayed in a corner of the cell, wrapped up in a ball, crying, because of what I had done.’

He then felt his first surge of gratitude for prison life. ‘I was grateful that it was impossible to drink inside,’ he said. ‘It forced me to look at my issues square in the face.’ He got a prescription for medication to help him cope with OCD. But after asking for psychiatric therapy, he found there was little on offer.

Yet it wasn’t long before he discovered the method to heal his mental wounds. Benedictine nuns visited and taught the prisoners meditation. While James was a lapsed Catholic at the time, he felt a real peace after the very first time of meditating on the word, ‘maranatha’ (an Aramaic expression found in St Paul’s letters often translated ‘Come, Lord!’) James then began meditating on his own. ‘Even in prison, there are times when you can meditate in silence. I got up earlier than the other prisoners, and so would meditate before the lights came on. In addition to the general feeling of peace, I was beginning to regain my sanity. My anxiety was lowered and my OCD got better.’

In prison every book that was being thrown under his door had a Catholic theme, and James first thought that it was a fluke. Later, he saw it as a sign. James made a list of difficulties that he had with the Church, and presented them to the chaplaincy. Each question was satisfactorily answered and James’s adoptive father sent him a new Catechism. ‘I realised that I had horribly misunderstood Catholicism,’ he notes humbly. It had been 30 years since his last Confession, and to prepare he wrote out his sins on a list.

He was no longer a hardened alcoholic, but a practising Catholic steeping himself in Benedictine spirituality. But he was also determined that when his prison term was finished he would not be a repeat offender. He stayed away from people who were planning to commit crimes. ‘I wasn’t going to help them, and they certainly weren’t going to help me,’ he says.

James notes cheerfully that ‘it’s very surprising who you might get on with in prison.’ I am aghast when he mentions that he was friendly with Roy Norris. In 1979, Norris was one of ‘the toolbox killers’. An accessory to Larry Bittaker, Norris raped and tortured six teenage girls, killed five of them and dumped their bodies in various parts of southern California.

I say that I find it surreal that Norris was a pleasant jailmate. ‘Yes, his crimes were despicable. But prison has been very good for Roy Norris. He is personable and does beautiful artwork. He knows that he’s never getting out, and that is the best thing for society. We stay in touch and we write to each other.

James says it made him a new person, and he thinks that Christian meditation could be the key to helping criminals ‘get over their anxieties and issues, which might have been the reason that they ended up in prison in the first place’… He has written an exceptional book on his experiences called ‘A Way in the Wilderness’, which convinces the reader of the life-changing benefits of meditation.

But is meditation all good? Are there not some risks? I mention that I have reservations… [I was once] warned against letting the mind go empty, because the Devil will slip in and control the person. James is familiar with this notion and counters it by saying: ‘If you open yourself up to the Devil, then it could be true, but in meditation you are opening yourself up to God. I know of nobody who meditated and suddenly became possessed. The distinction is that we are emptying our minds of our thoughts, and giving room for God to put his thoughts.’

When James has given public talks on meditation, people have objected to letting go of their thoughts. He has responded: ‘Your mind is like a cup. If it’s already filled with one liquid, you can’t put another liquid in it. You have to empty the cup first. The distinction is that we are emptying the mind but we are not emptying the soul. The soul is like the telephone to God, and we are using it to get in touch.’

What happens when we get in touch? ‘We listen. Meditation often starts with saying: ‘God, I’m finished asking you for things. Now, I’m ready to listen.’ When God makes His presence felt, it’s not always in a booming voice or a flash of light. If we want to know Him, we must listen. The first word of the Rule of St Benedict is ‘listen’, and we don’t pay enough attention to listening to God. ‘A Way in the Wilderness’ is compelling reading because it lifts the Rule of St Benedict from so many centuries ago and shows contemporary readers how to apply it in their own lives for spiritual enrichment.

I ask James if he thinks that a modern audience would find St Benedict off-putting. I mention the saint’s practice of getting rid of lustful thoughts by rolling around in thorny bushes. I ask him how he would interpret that to a modern group.

‘I think copying that practice directly is too severe!’ he replies. But St Benedict placed enough importance on dealing with temptation. Maybe thorn bushes were the only thing that he had at his disposal to ward off that particular temptation.’

While St Benedict was tempted by lust, James says that he knows the importance of conquering temptation because ‘I am an alcoholic and, fortunately, people can drink around me, and it does not bother me. But if it did, then I would have to remove myself from the company of people who drink, and the temptation, or else I might fall.’

There are also miracles that are attributed to St Benedict, such as when some of his own monks made an attempt on his life by poisoning his chalice. But when Benedict blessed the wine, the poison was nullified. When we discuss the incident, James says: ‘What rotten little monks. They attempted murder! I used to have the idea that monks were better than criminals, but that might not always have been the case.’

Not merely has James’s spirituality been revitalised, but he has also been reunited with his biological mother, who he calls ‘a wonderful lady’. He has certainly come full circle, from being convicted of a violent crime to passing on the practice of Christian meditation to prisoners. You never know, maybe even others like Roy Norris will follow in his footsteps.

– ‘A Way in the Wilderness’ by James Bishop is published by Continuum, priced £12.99. For more information, visit [external link].”
– This article by Mary O’Regan was published in “The Catholic Herald” issue September 6 2013. For subscriptions please visit (external link).

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Posted by on September 16, 2013 in Prayers for Ordinary Time


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